The Legacy
by RevengeOfTheNightmareSkittles
Summary: This is technically DBZ because Piccolo is alive. I've taken Pan and revamped her. Set during her teenage years. She's a rebellious highschooler hiding her powers from her friends like Gohan did. She's not 'with' Trunks. No romance. Well, a bit of Gotenks/Truten
1. The Introduction Slash Prologue

**A/N: This is a set of drabbles meant to introduce the story. I'm sorry if i got the age differences wrong, but this is fanfiction and I'm not perfect. I don't have a beta, and these were all written at different times, so forgive the differences. These are about Pan's teenage years and how she's changed, as all teenagers do. She's fourteen in eighthgrade, and turns fifteen before freshman year. The thing with trunks at the end is not directly relevant to the story, which may or may not be a collection of chronological adventures from her teenaged years instead of a story. if you don't like this, please tell me why. I aim to please and had fun with this, and feedback would be nice. So if you're reading this and want some non-romance highschool secrecy, welcome to my fanfic. I know I, personally, would love to find some BAMF Pan with mentions of Gotenks on the side where the plot line is NOT he/she falls in love, has issues, has sex, everythings better, and they live happilly ever after. So basically I had a craving for some non-PWP badass motherfucking Pan, some gay Trunks on the side, and a Gohan-esque high-school setting and problems.**  
**Just Saiyan. Lol.**  
**Enjoy**

Eigth Grade.

Sometimes, when I'm surrounded by students making their way to class, my childhood seems so far away- not real. Like a dream.

In this tasteless hallway, lockers on either side of me, it's hard to believe it all actually happened. I can't help but get caught up in the person I started pretending to be four years ago.

I know it's insane- how could I possibly have any doubts after all that… happened? But there it is. The mindset of my peers is that all the things I can do are impossible, and I've had to force myself to believe it here for so long... I'm drowning in it.

The slamming of a locker door right beside me jerks me back to my senses, and barely react in time to stop my reaction- jumping back into a fighting stance, ready for an attack.

As it was, I barely twitched. Rea was none the wiser, just giving me a curious glance.

I shrugged, pulling off, "Uncaring" with a practiced ease, my expression deadened. I reached up to twist a lock of hair with my finger- more an unconscious thinking-habit than an act of coyness. It had grown longer over the years; I'm still not completely used to it.

"When'd you get that shirt? It looks good on you."

Today is my zoning out day or something, because Rea's question made me jump. A low growl rose in my throat at the lack of control I was exhibiting, but I looked down anyways; I really couldn't remember what I'd thrown on.

A touch of surprise colored my facial expression as I noted the shirt, one that was definitely not mine, adorning my torso. At the same time, I felt like smiling at what I'd done without realizing.

So, I'd long since grown out of the red-bandanna phase. I kept it going for around six months, before I couldn't handle the... Memories... Anymore. It still hurts to think about. I filtered through a few styles I liked before finally finding 'me': a mix of grunge and punk-rock, off the rack kind of thrown-together outfits that suit my personality a lot better, and generally with my favorite, plain black zip up hoody.

Today I had donned black denim skinny-jeans that weren't really all that tight on me, with a ripped right knee and my old chain hanging from the left pocket. My shoes were the usual old, drawn-on-with-rainbow-sharpies-when-we-were-in-sixth-grade converse. I'd usually top it off with some random band tee shirt and the hot-topic bracelets I loved, but today I'd just grabbed the first thing my hands touched.

Which happened to be a guys' medium sized black CAPSULE CORPERATION (CC) tee. I mean, I wear guys' clothes, but this is distinctly not mine. Analyzation taking about five seconds, I looked up, glaring at Rea's sarcasm and her smirk.

But, just as I opened my mouth to deliver some non-lady like adjectives Vegeta would be proud of, a teacher decided to walk by. I closed my mouth with a grimace, and my number 2 female best friend laughed at my face.

"So who's shirt is it?" Danielle asked with a flirtatious, knowing eyebrow wiggle. I nearly groaned. First Rea, not you too, Dani!

"I know what you're thinking, and _no_, I-"

"I knew it! After a night filled with passionate, vigorous games of hide the sausage, you wore his shirt to commemorate the experience!"

I was too shocked by the horrible mental image for a second to respond, and then I was too caught up in howls of derisive laughter to fiercely deny what she'd stated.

First of all, my best friend flies for the other team. I don't even think of him as a _potential _datable. More like a cousin, or a brother.

I'd say I didn't even see him as a guy- but damn, that's impossible. He's ripped and as a half Sayain _reeks_ masculinity. He's got a freaking six pack and towers over me by over half a foot- he's six one, I'm a measly five six.

"Gay." I choked, finally pulling myself together. "He's gay, he's never been straight, he's in love with his best friend and never thought anything was weird about that until he got the 'talk' from his mother and she said something about liking girls."

I wiped a tear from my eye and looked up to meet Danielle's expression.

It was murderous.

"YOU HAVE A GAY BEST FRIEND AND HAVEN'T INTRODUCED ME YET! I HATE YOU! HOW COULD YOU! TELL ME EVERYTHING!" I winced at the explosion, as did everyone else in hearing distance. Trunks, on Namek, probably did as well. She's that loud.

*** IgnoreMeI'***

I've gotten so used to pretending that I get caught up in the lie. My mentality is damaged, in the same way that belief falters when you're constantly surrounded by people who pretty much _project_ the overwhelming sense of _dis_belief that crashes down on you like gravity for eight hours a day.

Even the devote schitzopath starts to doubt that the voices are real when he has the entire world telling him that they're not, 24/7.

_If the school persona i invented for myself a long time ago didn't slide off me like water off a duck's butt as soon as I step out of this crazy place every day, I'd have gone insane a long time ago_, I reflected.

To my extreme horror, it took a few seconds to push away the doubt that no-one (in our group) besides me has ever felt. No one else has enough human in them- they don't have to push past the capabilities of the human brain that make normal people have mental break downs at this stuff, the insistant screaching that none of this is possible.

The ningling worry took root as I reached deep inside myself for the power I _knew_ I had, the paranoia that it wouldn't be there almost unsteadying me. _The faith I have to have in myself is annoying sometimes. Priests should take notes._

But like always, it was there, and I shrugged off all my stupid fears and my inherent human nature to disbelieve. I didn't have to close my eyes to concentrate- not since I was four- but I let them slip closed just because as I willed the power outwards. Only a small ammount though! I had to filter it, to just use enough.

The power was intoxicating, dancing along my skin like magic and causing a light wind to flow as it disturbed the air currents around me. As easy as riding a bycicle- _like I've ever had to do that-_ I kind of mentally flicked my thoughts upwards.

My feet raising up off the ground was still the coolest thing ever. And no, i'm not dumb or incompotent to think that. There are stupid questions like, why does water reflect images? to which people generally roll their eyes and proclaim 'duh' followed by a simple answer they seem to be contented with. But then, there is a philosophical answer, that few ever find because few ever realize there's even a question. Miracles are all around us, we're just desensitized. it's sad, really.

But maybe I know _one too many _super-geniuses.

_Well, four's not _that_ many right? Right?_

As I rose off the ground, stable and sure, I counted off on my fingers.

_Trunks, his Mom, his Grandpa and Papa. Papa counts right? Grandma taught him Algebra when he was only seven, and trunks learned it when he was six, so... yeah, I guess Papa counts._

It was weird to think of my dad as a super genius, because... well... he's my dad. And he's so goofy all the time. Unconsciously, I power up and the wind whips past my face. Nothing solid is holding me up, and the feeling's amazing- true freedom, nothing out here, the city below to far away to be real...

... And some feeling I don't recognize tenses inside me, a kind of... sadness and a _want_. I just don't know what it is. It's kind of like missing a part of you, like I'm in the closet and lying to everyone I know. They don't know the real me.

Up here I'm free.

Finally.

*** IgnoreMeI'***

I barely survived middle school, and highschool was threatening to unwind all of my defenses. I found myself desperate, almost willing to ask Vegeta-desperate, for a spar. Anything. Any break.

I walked aimlessly into the cafeteria, already dreading the rest of the day. It was barely eleven, and yet, I was beyond ready to be home. Expressionless, I sighed and pushed open the door to hell... Only to see a messenger-angel there to save me, against all odds, from the annoying demons.

I felt my lower lip drop, causing my mouth to form a small 'o' as my bag dropped from suddenly numb fingers. I heard a shattering sound that I would usually associate with the barrier between my home life and school persona cracking irreparably, if I wasn't currently beyond rational thought.

Or any thought at all, for that matter.

Leaning against a temporarilly unoccupied table only a few yards away from where I usually sat, was a familiar face I knew by heart. Even with his wicked sunglasses-which he was wearing indoors, the dork- I knew his eyes; they were blue, pale like ice. How had I described him to Danielle? Six-one and built? Well, he's that, though not the overly buff, just as showy as his father/father's nemesis were by nature.

He was wearing cargo shorts and brown sandals just because he could, along with a long-sleeved black shirt that read CApsule COrperation in shiny, metalic silver letters that glinted in the florescenet lighting. He was facing me, and he was smiling, a blue (of a much darker shade than his eyes) bandanna tied carlessly around his neck like he was sixteen again.

Not smirking, but smiling- and his purple hair nearly fell over his shades. He was attracting attention, but I couldn't tell if he wa so used to it that he honestly didn't notice, or if he really just didn't care. It was probably a bit of both, because I neither noticed nor cared about the strange looks I got as I literally froze in the doorway staring at him, and we think a lot alike.

"Trunks!" I yelled, grinning violently as I ran towards him. On some level, I noticed Rea trying to get my attention. I must have, because I refuse to believe I'm that oblivious, even when destracted. My instincts haven't gotten_ that _bad, despite my granma's intentions. I still train with Mr. Piccolo once a month, and with my dad every weekend.

And of course, with the purple haired REJECT I haven't seen in four months due to a certain project involving namekians and sensu beans.

He better have flown over here as soon as he landed. I finally got to Trunks, and hugged him for all I was worth.  
I didn't care that he'd broken the fourth wall between who I pretended to be and who I actually was, didn't care in the slightest because-

"I missed you, Jackass!" I whisper shouted. His laugh was a relief I hadn't know I'd been missing.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I missed you too, you short little-" I punched him before he could finish, leaning back to do so. He laughed at me, not feeling it in the slightest, and I couldn't help but join in.

"How'd you get in here anyways?" I asked once I could breathe again.

Trunks gave me a _look_ and I realized how stupid a question that was. He rose an eyebrow; I nearly hit myself. Almost instantly, I could list a handful of ways, right off the top of my head, even ignoring the fact that a _door _couldn't stand in the way of any of us if we wanted to be somewhere. (Entire planets couldn't.) - anywhere from physical force to being the future president of CC.

Being the future president of the most influential company in the world _really_ didn't hurt. ("Hi, I'm without a doubt going to be the president of Capsule Coorperation; I'd like a visators pass, please"- Our principal probably had a heart failure.)

"Uhm... Pan?" I looked up, startled. Danielle was standing there with a seriously confused expression, rea behind her looking put out. Tony and Juan, Danielle's eternal entourage, were faithfully by her side.

Oh shit. Mayday, mayday. Fourth wall down. Evasive action! My mind was a desperate set of alarms going off, but I just couldn't panic this near Trunks. He was my safe place, as dorky as it sounds.

Time to play it safe. Pretend nothing's out of the ordinary.

"Yes?" I managed to control my voice even though it wanted to slide out as a squeak.

Dani's eyes widened in surprise. I literally saw the 'Okay, then' reflect back at me from her eyes.

"Whatchya doiingg?" She asked casually, the sarcasm there but smothered brutally by curiosity.

"Oh, you know, just hanging." I tried for lofty. Failed misrably. Trunks bent down to hide peals of laughter in my shoulder, one arm still around my stomache to keep me there.

Bastard was enjoying this. Of course he was.

"Going to introduce me?" Danielle's eyes raked over trunks, where they'd really been this entire time, but I knew she was just looking. Unlike Rea, she'd never, ever flirt with him. She's amazing like that.

"Sure." I answered, plan forming. Trunks hadn't been away long enough to not grow wary at my readiness to answer; he also knew I'd be angry that he chose my first day of highschool- of all days- to return from the Sensu-Growing whatever project on Namek.

"You rememeber that gay best friend conversation we had at the end of last year?"

"You didn't!" Trunks was scandalized.

"Oh, but I did. How'd you get in here, really? I can think of a dozen different ways, but now I want to know which."

"I waved my shiny, _gay_ credit card around and said something about sponsering some whatever." He deadpanned in the most sarcastic, emotionless voice I have ever heard, and the way his voice lifted very homosexually, while still bored, on the word 'shiny' made the last four months without him almost worth it.

Almost.

I'd been going insane over the summer, but it was better now.

"So, are we going to eat lunch, or what?" Danielle wouldn't flirt with him, but Juan was never going to stop. Well, at least I know he doesn't mean anything by it.

I met Dani's eyes and her grin faded as she too realized we'd have to pry Rea off of him with a crowbar.

"Shit." She grumbled, fun spoiled.

Right on cue, Tony piped in,

"I'm not eating that. Nope. Nuh-uh. You can't make me. I'm leaving you." The last bit was to Juan, who faked dying of heartbreak in response. Trunks looked really worried now, and I read the thought like it was my own but he said it anyways.

"Jeaze Pan, are _all_ of your friends this insane?"

I gave _him_ a look, because the most insane of my friends were the ones we shared, but Dani laughed.

"Oh, dude, you have no idea. Just wait until you meet the really crazy one."


	2. Backpack, Rainbow, Princess

**A/N I see this as being in the fall. Feedback is amazing. How do you guys like _my _Pan? I think her relentless teasing of Trunks makes for an interesting read/write, but that's just me. seriously, has this been done before? A pan's a rebellious teenager with teenaged adventures, a saiyan secret and trunks as her gay best friend? Also, I don't own this, but unless someone else has actually done it, I own the idea. And all the characters not from DBZ are based off real people, and I own them in real life. They're my minions. They know it. Rea, Danielle, Tony and Juan (and im not going to say who's who in real life because when my two best friends read this, there will be debate as to which one's Rea and I really don't want the one who's rea to actually find out i see her like this sometimes lol- although it is fairly obvious by the halfway point. *Gulp*)**

"It's locked." Rea stated dully, looking at her nails like they weren't immaculate. Danielle rolled her eyes and mouthed 'no shit, Sherlock' before turning to me with an inquisitional expression.

"I don't _care_." I nearly growled, annoyance lifting my voice higher than usual. Even Rea looked up in surprise.

Ignoring her, I jumped and landed with the grace and balance of a turtle on the edge of the gate, seven feet up. And if you've ever trained with Master Roshi, you realize how balanced turtles have to be with those damned shells.

Danielle outright gaped.

Trunks sighed pointedly, bending his legs before he joined me, landing in a sort-of squatting position to my right.

"You're going to get us caught." He warned in a low, whining voice. He meant as part Saiyans, not caught breaking into the school. I ignored him, too.

"I want my backpack." I shot back.

He shrugged, making the scarf temporarily rise to his chin. We fell over the side of the fence in synchronization and landed softly.

My purple haired best friend closed his eyes for a second, perfectly still.

"There's no one here." He asserted calmly.

I mimicked Danielle.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Trunks smirked, but kept his comeback to himself as he started walking. I felt verbally PWNed anyways and followed behind petulantly.

"So where'd you leave this backpack again?" He asked casually, curiosity evident in his voice.

"Erm… Room 306. It's this way." I made a vague gesture to the left, wishing—not for the first time—that ki sensing was capable of finding inanimate objects as well.

Trunks snorted.

"Like they have over 300 classrooms here. I will never understand that. Public schooling is ridiculous."

I didn't say anything because I agreed wholeheartedly. Huh. I've never thought about it like that. Of course, there _aren't_ 306 classrooms. I wonder why they do that?

And also, even if I didn't agree, arguing with teenage geniuses is never prudent. I almost never win an argument with Trunks.

A frown turns my lips while we break into the school; I never win many regular fights either. Well, those don't count anyways. Trunks cheats. He can go super-sayain. I got biologically cheated out of that birthright by the stupid matter of my gender.

Trunks holds the metal door- now with a slightly broken doorhandle he'll probably pay for later with his shiny CC company credit card- open for me with a mock bow, and I promptly kick him in the shin. Just because I'm the only girl, doesn't mean they need to treat me like a figurine.

I hold back without meaning to, having fallen back into the habit created by nigh on eight years of 'ridiculous, public schooling' and Trunks shrugs it off good naturedly. From there, we take care to move as fast as we can through the hallways and a small part of me explodes with, not rainbows and sunshine, but rebelous joy and wall-graffitti-like happiness at being able to fly.

Most kids, when they're about five, run through the hallways at every opportunity, just because it's against the rules. I pull my ki up and around me and _fly_ through the damned hall, just because I finally can.

There's nothing wrong with this. This is _right._ Why do I hide it?

We get to the 300 hallway too fast for my liking- I know that tonight I'm not going to get any sleep, too busy imbibing the sweet freedom of midnight skies, and that it's going to make me tired for school tomorrow, but not one fuck is had and the knowledge makes me impatient for nightfall.

Phasing into the classroom is easy for Trunks. I haven't mastered that trick yet so I stay outside pseudo-grudingly, doing flips and dancing too fast for camera's to catch and loving every second. I sense- Not see, sense- him come out and just like that we're home free.

We get out of the building and i go ecstatic, immediately taking the bag from Trunks (who watches me with knowing eyes, like he can feel my excitement, too) and dart upwards as high as I dare, spining softly the entire way, weightless.

The air is cool in the twilight holding the day just above the clutches of darkness. It's welcoming, a gently wind in my face and all around me. I embrace it, embrace everything that makes me different, my alien heritage, my human heritage, _everything._

And, slowly, I drift back to the ground knowing that my eyes _must_ showcase my exhileration because that's how potent it is. How strong. Trunks laughs at me but smiles at my indulgence, remembering what it was like to be a teenager himself. Probably. He's only twenty-six and that's _nothing_ for a half-saiyan. Vageta is what, sixty? And he's still in the top 5 strongest-warriors-alive category; still uses the GR every day and everything.

I have to force my ki down on the walk back and it's actually a struggle to supress it. I mean, I know my friends won't be able to sense it or anything, but it's hard to keep my feet on the ground. The temptation to just fly and be done with it is overwhelming and I feel so light-headed that I keep having to check, just to make sure I'm really hitting the earth with every step.

"You're not going to be doing that homework we just used all that effort to retrieve, are you?" Trunks complained, and I looked up sharply. Am I really that obvious? Damnit.

"No, probably not. Not after that." I admit, unwilling to lie. Not to Trunks. "You wanna join me?"

"Yes, but unlike _some_ people." He lowers his voice as we near the two low ki signatures waiting for us, but the amusement is still present. "I have to work in the morning, so I need to sleep." He thumps me on the forehead and then makes a show of climbing the fence.

_Very human_, I congratulate telpathically. He hears the sarcasm there and sticks his tongue out, now straddling the top of the gate easilly. Like me, he has the perfect balance of a martial artist, gained through long, hard hours of training.

Smart ass that he is, the violet haired wretch offers down a hand, knowing I have to take it to avoid arousing further suspicion in my two female best friends. but I don't have to like it.

I'm still irrationally mad and dissapointed that I'll be flying alone tonight. I mean, it's not like anybody else _can_ go with me. Geaze, my parents can fly, but they're my _parents._ I can't exactly invite them to sneak out with me. I'm lucky enough that my dad chooses to ignore the fact that i _do_ sneak out; I know he knows. I sense his ki leave the house when_ he _needs a 'fuck it, I'm not human' break. It's a mutual father-daughter thing between us that we don't tell my mom.

I smile _gratefully_ at Trunks and even though it's not his fault he's heir to the most respected company in the world, I want to yank him down by the hand I take and proceed to rip it off. And then perhaps beat him with it.  
There's no one else like me on the planet. I'm the only 1/4 saiyan. There are super-powerful human-saiyan hybrids: Trunks, Goten, Bra (who doesn't even _like_ fighting), Dad... But only one of me. I'm all alone and the weight of that crushes me when I let it.

"Pan." Trunk reminds gently instead of a bit annoyed, jerking me out of my thoughts. My hand is in his but he's not just going to lift me up, not here in front of Rea and Dani.

"Sorry. Spaced out there for a second." I force pep into my voice, but it's not enough. He knows theirs something wrong, and Dani might. Anything emotional flies right over Rea's head, thankfully, so I don't have to worry about that.

When Trunks and I are both over again, she immediately starts complaining about the wait and flirting with him unabashedly. The subject of our near-flying fence jumping isn't broached. I know Dani will ask me later; I doubt Rea noticed.

My red-headed friend reaches a hand up to flip her hair back, even though it's cut too short to go anywhere. Ridiculous.

Dani chuckles under her breath, enjoying this as much as I am. Her Gaydar is better than mine by a longshot; I've known Trunks for years and he's my best friend, and even I didn't know for a while. I had to walk in on it.  
I shudder and Dani looks at me funny, but she shrugs it off. Rea makes another obvious come-on, and I can't help it. A snicker escapes me, impossible to disguise. Rea shoots me a glare. Trunk's ki flares up once, then twice, the universal Z-fighter code for HELP ME, BITCHES. He looks decisively uncomfortable and even though I'm enjoying this immensely, I decide to put him out of his misery.

"Who wants to tell her?" I ask, not even bothering to hide the laughter in my voice. Dani's grinning, Trunks is squirming. Rea is latched onto one of his impressively muscled arms; she scowls.

"Tell me what?" She demands, affronted that we interupted her flirting. She takes everything as an insult and honey, we're just trying to save you the embarrasment.

"Somebody, do it, please." Trunks mutters, too quiet for anyone but me to hear. I raise an eyebrow at Dani- I think outing someone is on her bucket list.

She caught on immediately, eyes lighting up.

"He's gay," She announced quickly, before I can change my mind and pick someone else. Who else would I pick? Blondes.

"Wha?" Rea scrunches up her nose, annoyed. I'm scared for a half second she's not going to believe us or- worse- throw one of her infamous Bitch Fits, but my fears are put to rest immediately when Dani elaborates, blonde hair bright under the streetlights.

Her green eyes are happy with this.

"The man who's arm you're latched onto? Is gay. Straight-as-a-circle, rainbow-princess; scared of women, too, by the look on his face right now. He's taken, takes it up the ass and doesn't want you. And way out of your league. You're thirteen. He's twenty something. It's not even legal. Give up, and remove yourself before you grow on him." Dani is too nice to say it, but I know her well enough to hear the unspoken 'like cancer' she wants to tack on.

Rea turns her big, brown eyes up to Trunks who squirms again. I wish I had popcorn. Really. Or a video camera. She shoves her impressive cleavage against the arm she seemingly refuses to release and Trunk's eyes don't so much as deviate. He gulps.

"Taken, takes it up the ass, rainbow-princess." He confirms, quickly extracting himself. I feel my face contort as he hastens to walk beside me instead of her, even as I'm somehwat gleefully filing that confession away in the gilded folder marked **BLACKMAIL** in my brain.

"Ew! Dude! Too much friggen information! I did not need that mental image of Uncle Goten! Just blow me up, here and now." Trunks lips stretched into a grin.

"Okay, I'm not the one who takes it _all_ the time."

"Ahh! No ammount of therapy will ever let me unsee that!"

Rea was pouting. Dani was watching, grin still splitting her face.

"If you didn't want to know..." Trunks trailed off, voice light and teasing with laughter.

I spluttered for a full minute before realizing how I could win this verbal spar. Light bulb.

"I'm telling Vegeta!" I bluff; it's almost ruined by my near tripping over a crack in the sidewalk.

All color drains from his face.

"You wouldn't." He tries to call it, but he can't.

"Oh, but I would." My voice is challenging. "Imagine his face! It would so be worth it!"

Trunks is by birthright Prince of All Saiyans as well, and I can so, _so_ see Vegeta's reaction to that, and it would so be worth it. ("Saiyan Princes do _not_ take it up the ass form useless Kakabrats!")

"It would so not be worth it. He might kill the messenger. _I_ might kill the messenger." It's an idle threat. Gohan would kick his ass faster than I could blink if he tried to hurt me, the only good thing about my being a girl; they all dote on me. I don't even hesitate.

"Granny Chi-chi will destroy you if you so much as lay a finger on me, _Rainbow._ _Princess_." The last bit is a taunt, drawn out and filled with sooo much _mock_.

Trunks growls at that, and I love Dani so much at that moment, just for supplying me with that ammo.

"I will tell you, in extremely biased, explicit detail _worthy of fanfiction authors_, about every sexual consummation between me and Goten since we were your age."

His voice is low, threatening, and I don't doubt it for a second.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before." I dance around his trump card with my own, rubbing it in his face that I've _walked in_ on him 'taking it'. His face now as I remind him is nothing compared to his face then, flushed and begging.

He blushes fire engine red and I want to laugh aloud. Victory is sweet.

"You can tell me if you want." Danielle pipes in, elbowing Trunks lightly in the stomach and smiling innocently at him. It's obvious that he doesn't know how to react to this, so he settles for just laughing nervously, a hand behind his head to mess with the hair on the back of his neck.

The gesture is so familiar it sends a pang through my chest and I have to look away, blinking back tears. I can't think about that. It's too painful.

Dani picks up on my distress even though she doesn't know the cause of it, shoving her hands into her invader zim hoody and grinning flirtaciously at me.

"So, are you going to invite Sir Rainbow Princess here to go to this years Gay-Day-Parade with us?"

Trunks' head whipped around so fast that it was comical, appraising me with wide eyes. I laughed.

"I hadn't thought about it, but yeah, I probably will."

Dani nods contentedly, moving over to lace her arm through mine We're-off-too-see-the-wizard style. I know

Rea's rolling her eyes right now from behind us, but Trunks isn't in on the joke.

"Pan and I go every year," She told Trunks seriously. "We dress up and everything."

Trunks stared at me, looking so betrayed that I had to give in.

"I'm straight, she's straight," I gestured to Danielle with a playful poke, "And _she's_ straight so long as she's sober." Rea whined, annoyed that I dare mention her drunken lesbian escapades.

"Danielle here is an equal rights activist, the likes of which you've never seen. I'm not homophobic- obviously, gods, _you_ know that better than anyone- but I'm lazy as.. er.. fudge. If I flaunt my gay pride with her, then she goes to the Tenkaichi Budokai with me and cheers when I win the junior's devision."

"_When_ you win?" Trunks arched a brow.

I smirked, unashamed.

"Yep. Unless Bra decides to take over the world, I'm the youngest Z-fighter."

"I kinda thought she already had." He mumbled, blanching at the idea of the leather-clad princess in control of the planet.

"So who's Bra?" Dani asked, intrigued. I still forget that they know so little about my private life; Rea's never even been to my house.

"His sister"- "My sister."

We grinned at each other.

"And who's Vegeta?"

We both started to answer and then paused, considering. Matching images of the now mustache-less man rising up from flames to a background of maniacle laughter slammed home, accompanied with his well practiced (at _every_ opportunity) monologue, "_**I am the Prince of All Saiyans!**_" etc...  
Yeah. I met Trunks' eyes and we both kind of laughed it off nervously.

"My dad." Trunks said shortly, _meakly, _and not for the first time i wondered how he'd turned out okay with his bizarre parenting. Well, like I could talk.

My dad's a super hero- complete with the dende awful outfit, bane of my existance- and my grandfather is Hercule Satan. Which Danielle and Rea do not get to know. Ever. Just... no. I love gramps and everything... but no.

We got to the end of the side walk and turned right to see a parked minivan on the otherwise deserted street, Danielle's kid brother hanging out a window and her mom smiling fondly at the demon incarnate. He was as blond as she was with equally blue eyes- every singly freaking one of them looked like a super sayain, even her mom, which was the original reason I noticed Dani to begin with. We became fast friends, but it still hurt to look at her sometimes.

She has what I'll never be able to achieve. Not in a million life times. Chance, her brother, reminds me of the home videos always playing round Bulma's house; the one's of Goten and Trunks back when they were cute and little and evil. Now they were _real_ Super Saiyans and I can't even imagine taking care of them.

I doubt Leanne could manage just the one, even with Dani's help. Probably. Leanne is a very scary person; I would not cross her.

Said scary mom's blond daughter smiled and waved at me before grabbing Rea by the hand and dragging her to the car. Both of them grinned like mad at me after they'd climbed in.

I waved in return, elbowed Trunks so he would emulate me, and waved politely at Leanne before Chance and I had our usual war-of-the-funny-faces behind her back.

Trunks waited exactly ten seconds after they dissapeared before he started floating upwards. I sighed, the exaustion from the day wearing me down with no more adrenaline keeping me on my toes. I went boneless and fell backwards, breaking down every singly fucking barrier on my ki and letting it flare out. Every Z-fighter on earth would feel it by I didn't care at the moment.

Energy caught me softly just before I hit the ground. I let it catch me and carry me up until I was even with

Trunks, still in the deadman's swim position, floating on air. It was nice. Relaxing.

"I've decided not to go flying tonight." I announced, a yawn breaking up my words.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I'm too tired. In fact, you should carry me to my house."

"What, I'm not- Pan! You can't just fall like that! I know you're bluffing, you wouldn't let yourself hit the ground at that speed- Damnit, raise your ki back up and catch yourself! Pan! Oh, screw it. Wait a second!" He panicked, realized I _wasn't_ bluffing and flashed faster than I could move to catch me, just like we both knew he would in the end.

Really, he just waisted perfectly good breath.

"Thank you, Trunks." I murmered sweetly, curling in his arms. He grumbled the entire way there and it was the perfect lullaby combined with the soft song of the wind in our hair.

I knew he'd sneak us in the window without my mom finding out I'd left, too.

You've _got _to love the gay best friend.


	3. The Dream Because Kids Remember

When I finally fall asleep Sunday night, my dream offers me no respite.

I see things I was brought up knowing about: stories of my grandpa brought to life, the legend of his life playing like a movie in my sleep. I watch what happened on Namek when my Daddy was a kid, watch Piccolo go from bad to good, watch Bulma and Vegeta's wedding- which I've heard _more_ than enough stories from Krillin about, because apparently it was hilarious- but once pint sized versions of Trunks and Goten duke it out in the Junior Division as best friends and Super Saiyans, I feel the frustration and tears well up, even when I'm asleep.

The dream refocuses: one thousand casual instances of childhood rage igniting blonde hair and teal eyes, one thousand instances of a transformation _I'll_ never achieve no matter how hard I train because it's biologically impossible. A gift Uncle Goten and Trunks take for granted, one they were given as _children_.

My subconscious shows me what it thinks Vegeta was like back then, when he first saw Trunks transform; years of work on his part duplicated near-effortlessly by a six year old. How unfair. How _ridiculous_.

I'm in the dream; my hands are reaching out. There's a glowing light there, the same one I sometimes see when I'm meditating for hours and hours and hours on end, so far into the distance I can barely sense it. It's golden and pure and _good_ and I'll never be able to touch it. Never.

My hands get closer in the dream, aching for it, wanting it more than anything.

It's hot and warm at the same time, safe and reassuring. It's pure power and amazing _goodness_. I don't think I'll ever be that kind or good- even if I was born male like Goten or Trunks or even my dad, I'd never be _pure_ enough to hold it in my hands and...

I wake up so suddenly I don't realize the dream has stopped at first. I'm staring up at my ceiling, the gray darkness of the room, and without reaching up to feel them I know there are tear tracks down my cheeks. I can feel the wetness.

I'm not good enough; I'll never be_ good_ enough.

No matter how hard I train, I'll always be a bad person. I'll always want to punch Deborah Walters in the nose so hard she has to get _another_ new one. I'll always want to show people how strong I am, just because I can. I'll always be bad and evil and, and, and...

Me. And not able to even get _near_ the golden light.

My grandpa got near it. He got so near and close and was so pure-hearted the light wanted to go near _him_. And it did.

And they went away together because I wasn't _good_ enough, and they knew (like I know) that I never will be.


	4. To Play Again

Yamcha taught me to play ball when I was six. It quickly became one of my favorite ways to release tension.

It gave me something else to focus on mentally, like video games (number three); It provided the physical relief like martial arts, which I did_ not_ get to do as often as I liked (number one); and it came almost effortless to me as flying (number two), while still providing a challenge. I had to focus like when I fought, concentrate on my energy like when I was flying, _think- _and not just rely on fighting instinct- like when I gamed, but the funnest, most challenging bit was keeping my ki down and limiting myself, like in gym class.

It was annoying at first, though, how every time my parents saw me play they shared this _look_ that I could not decipher. It was an intermingled mess of pride and _knowing_ and teasing. Back then, my curiosity had nearly smothered me. Now, I don't want to know.

But I hadn't played since... well. Let's just say the only time I've ever worn a glove was when my feet were firmly planted on the Earth... Before it ever needed to get wished back.

So it came as a shock to me when, on the summer between middle school and high school, it got brought up again.

I was at Danielle's house and it was raining outside. My thoughts were somewhere far away and I was staring out her bedroom window, wishing I was out there in the stratosphere dodging lightning and getting rocked by the winds; when I was little, my grandpa and I would sneak out and play that game.

"So are you playing any sports next year?" Dani's voice made me jump. She'd been- art nerd that she is- painting quietly, easel set up in front of her. I didn't notice when she'd looked up, but she was watching me now with a disturbing focus. Her storm-cloud grey eyes saw me for me, every flaw and asset, how the light hit me, the spark in my eyes that marked me as alive; the eyes of an artist.

They picked me apart thought by thought, and I knew it bothered her that she didn't know what I was keeping from her. To her I was like a puzzle, one she'd been trying to put together in her relentless need to _understand_ the things she cared about, and though she knew she was missing some pieces... she had no idea we weren't even the same species.

Sometimes I feel bad for lying to her, but I refuse to lose her over something as trivial as blood.

"What?" Was my genius reply. Immediately, I wanted to hit myself.

"Are you," She enunciated each word slowly, carefully; watching my reaction, "playing any _sports_ next year?"

I blinked, thrown by the question.

"Err... I haven't really thought about it." But I was now. A thousand thoughts flared to life in an instant, the sudden burst akin to the brief flashes of lightning outside, the impact they had on my feelings just like the accompanying thunder: loud. Debilitating. Ground-shaking.

_Could_ I play sports next year? Would it be fair for me to? Would it count as cheating? I wondered if I'd even pass the blood test. What would show up on the results? I guess... I could ask Bulma... Do I _want_ to play sports?

"What... all sports do they have?" I asked carefully, weighing each word before I let it fall from my lips. The words hit the silence of the room and it seemed to _ignite,_ the ambiance of it sky-rocketing in response to Danielle's emotions. The walls didn't suddenly turn sunshine yellow, but they might as well have. Her excitement, her happiness, was tangible.

"Softball." She assured me at once, and I sucked in a deep breath. Memories lined up to assault me like a physical enemy, one that I couldn't- didn't_ want-_- to fight. The onslaught was fierce, relentless. It wouldn't let me be sad. The memories made sure I could remember only my past joy and jubilation. None of the melancholy that usually accompanied the recollection plagued me.

I saw my grandpa's excitement as I learned how to catch. I watched Piccolo's annoyed, grumpy expression slide by and remembered the summer when I first started- how my aim was so off he barely dodged in time. Laughter almost had me, as it had the younger me at the time, at Yamcha's expression the first time I got up to bat. Flabbergasted, speechless, and slightly sulking; even at six, I was stronger than him.

When uncle Goten was seven, he could transform into a Super Saiyan. There- the sadness latched onto where, only a second ago, happiness ruled. Jealousy clambered up my back gleefully, the green monster who always left guilt in its wake. I knew Goten and Trunks _had_ to be that strong to save the world; it didn't make me feel any better.

I hardened my resolve against the pervading emotions, determined not to let the constant jealousy and insecurities get me down.

"Sure, I'll play. Are you and Rea going to be on the team?" Suddenly, I was worried. What if _they_ didn't want to play? I am not playing with the bitchy bitches alone. I can't deal with them. I'll end up shoving a blunt bat through someone's chest- probably my own- and that will raise all kinds of questions about super strength that I'd just as soon avoid, thank you very much. Nuh-uh. No. Just... no.

"Duh." She gave me a strange look, obviously wondering why I'd think they'd abandon me, and I remembered why I love her so much.

Dani has the loyalty of any Z-fighter. For a few moments, it was quiet. Only the patter of rain falling outside and the faraway sounds of her brother playing with his friend on the other side of the house were heard. We kept the solemn looks on our faces the entire time until, simultaneously, we shattered the serious atmosphere by breaking into howls of laughter than probably shook Dani's house.

***_ Time Skip. Time Skip. Fanfiction is annoying me. Time Skip. Feedback is appreciated. Time Skip. _***

"So do you want to go outside and throw?" We were on the bed, staring up at her ceiling. For the past ten minutes, we'd been talking about boys- I know, cliché. But Dani _does _have a girly side, much as she tries to deny it. Confusion scrunched my features- Where did that come from?

Danielle laughed at me when I said as much, eyes light and carefree for once.

"What?" She grinned. "It's not raining anymore."

She said it like it made perfect sense, the picture of innocence. I threw a pillow at her, which she failed to dodge even though I made sure to do it with human speed and strength.

"But it's still wet outside! We'll kill ourselves slipping and sliding trying to catch the ball!" Well, she would. After all I've been through, I have no intention of letting a _puddle,_ of all things, do me in.

"Come on, where's your sense of adventure?" The laughter in her teasing voice never faded. You have no idea what you're saying, I thought as I accepted the challenge. You have no _idea_ what a sense of adventure really is.

"_My_ sense of adventure is ten-thousand times greater than yours, foolish earthling!" I couldn't keep a straight face, not when I heard how much I sounded like a Saiyan Prince. She couldn't either. We both doubled over laughing at the same time, unable to stop.

What she doesn't know is how truthful the words are... On both counts. She _is_ an Earthling, and my sense of adventure really would put hers to shame. Maybe one day I'd tell her some stories to prove it- stories of adventures she's never even thought of undertaking. Sneaking onto spaceships, traversing the galaxy... Older things, like planets with green people and green water, blue grass, more than one sun. She'd never believe me, of course, but the stories would make her rethink her heinous accusation.

"Prove it!" She gasped, trying to catch her breath.

We had our gloves with us, even though the season didn't start for three more months. The summer heat still clung, sulking, to the land. The air was humid, the temperature high for September. The ground was mushy and marsh-like, and Danielle grimaced, cursing under her breath, every time her shoes sunk into the mud.

_This was your idea_, I reminded her silently, smugly. She caught my look and sent me a single-fingered salute, to which I grinned.

I cheated on the trek through her backyard, rising slightly off the ground when she wasn't facing me and using my energy to keep me from sinking past ground level when she was. It was invigorating, flying in front of her. She didn't realize it, and wouldn't catch me if I was careful, but it was an adrenaline rush all the same.

It's not my fault. It's genetic. My entire family, even the human side, are die-hard junkies. If my dad hadn't taught my mom to fly when they were teenagers, she'd probably be bungee jumping off bridges by the time I was three, just to get a thrill. Both of them still dress up like super heroes to fight crime, much to my chagrin.

But it's not their fault either. It's genetic. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

I'm still using the last glove I practiced with when I was nine- it was new then, bought just a year before Grandpa was turned into a midget- and the way it still hugged my hand sent a pang through my heart that disappeared as suddenly as it came. I took a deep breath and-

Dani chunked the ball at me, knowing I wasn't ready yet. My hand flew up instantly, just as it would if the ball was made of energy and not matter, but of course it wasn't as fast. I jerked it back down, both movements too fast for her to notice. The whole thing took place in the space of a single heartbeat.

I feigned surprise and drew my glove up slowly, just in time to trap the ball in it. Dani scowled again. I smiled and fired it back, trying hard to remember how much force to use. The last human I threw with was my mom, and she's not exactly average.

Too fast- I blanched once I realized it, but thankfully- thanks, Dende- my aim had gotten a **HFIL**uva lot better in nine years. It flew straight to her glove. It probably gave her a bruise, but it flew straight into her glove before she had a chance to move it and she closed it on instinct.

Shit.

Danielle blinked incredulously, looking back and forth between her glove and me with a confused expression.

"Crap. I'm out of practice. Take it easy on me, would you?" And as she whined, the relief singing through my tensed-up body had me smiling weakly along with her.

From there, it went pretty smoothly. I managed to smother my instinct to throw the ball as soon as I got it, to get rid of it like a bomb, and to not take her hand off with it. I only messed up a couple of times- jumping a few inches too high to catch the ball once, and moving too fast another time to catch it when she threw it too far to the left.

Neither was a serious enough offense to make her overly suspicious; hopefully, my best female friend just thinks I'm really good at this game.

After about thirty minutes of catch, she'd broken a sweat. I tried for mock-tired to match, and she either bought it or saw what she wanted to see. Either way, she stood up and tossed her glove on the slide of the kids swing set. It had mercifully dried to where it wouldn't pose a threat to the leather.

Huh. The sun had come out sometime during our session, but neither of us had been paying enough attention to the sky to notice. I looked up now, surprised.

"I'm going to go get us some water." Dani huffed, starting her trek back to the house. I kept up the labored breathing until she was out of earshot.

Once she disappeared through the door, I set my own glove beside hers- much more carefully, of course- and started stretching for real.

I bent over to touch my toes, enjoying the slight tug of muscle even as I berated myself for not training as much as I should. I leaned back up with a contented sigh before dancing through the rest of my usual pre-stretch stretches.

Most were the same ones we used in gym class, but to a more challenging degree.

And then I pulled my legs inward to meditate. I found peace easily, drinking in the tranquility almost greedily. I became one with the nature around me.

The grass, about three feet below me, bent with a slight wind. The sun dried the water, a constant cycle. It felt good as it shined down through the back of my shirt. I was at one with the world, and the world was at one with-

"HOLY CRAP, PAN! HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT?" I fell from my meditative hovering with a yelp, immediately landing not-so gracefully on the damp lawn.

Chance and his friend were looking at me with wide, amazed eyes.

It took me fifteen minutes to convince them it was a magic trick- complete with demonstration- and an insane amount of candy to bribe them not to tell Danielle.

Luckily for me, little boys are amazing at keeping things from their big sisters.

They went inside at the same time that Dani came back out, two waters in hand.

"Sorry I took so long. My mom made me help her find Chance's backpack Capsule; you know how she is." She rolled her eyes before widening them almost comically. I looked down, following her gaze and hoping that I was on the ground this time.

I was.

"What the hell happened to you?" She demanded, staring unabashedly at the grass stains and wet marks.

"Your brother!" I snapped, and it was a perfectly sound defense. It was believable, too, since the little brats were expert prank masters. I watched the curiosity shift to surprise on her face, and then the amusement and pride glow in her eyes.

"Just shut the fuck up and get your glove on already."

"Whatever you say, Swamp Queen."

The sun was down by the time we went inside, and by that time, Dani was just as wet and grass-marked as I was, much to her mother's dismay.

**I appologize for any mistakes; As of 5/29/12 I've edited and reposted this chapter because I wrote it at midnight and my sleep-deprived brain failed to remember that earth had gotten wished back after the Baby madness. It's fixed now. If I've made any more mistakes, feel free to tell me about them.**

**You guys suck, by the way. 129 visitors and only one of you leaves a review? Heartless readers.**


	5. A NotSoSmall Slip Up

It's not fair. When you're a guy and you have a six pack, you get fawned over by girls. When you're a girl and you have a six pack, you get eaten by them.

I grimaced, trying hard not to just rip my gym locker's door clean off when the combination didn't work right.

Not that I _want_ to get fawned over, but it would be a nice change to not get _attacked._ The word plays havok in my head, forcing me to bite back a snort. If any of them really _attacked _me, not just verbally... Dende.

That would be so satisfying. Finally, the damn lock clicked and cold metal of the ugly, blue door yielded to my hand. It was also very satisfying for me to imagine that the metal would _really_ yield to my hand if I put enough pressure on it.

I may be vain about comparing my strength to my peers', but it's not my fault; it's like being 6"4' and the shortest in your house. When you come to school, surrounded by Krillen sized migits, it's impossible not to brag, if only in your thoughts.

Especially if you have nothing else to brag about. Chagrined, I reached into the black magic vortex and pulled out my gym clothes, already dreading taking off my comfortable ones. I think I broke my record, stripping and redressing so fast no one had time to direct mean, heart-wrenching comments towards me. For once.

Danielle, in direct contrast to this, winked at me before starting a long, languid striptease. I rolled my eyes; she was getting as many dirty looks as i usually did, yet she played it off in a way i could never immulate, backing up against the wall of lockers in her underwear and shooting them a _look_ that screamed, 'ravish me'. I tried to muffle my laughter at her dramatic display and failed horrendously.

"Don't mind them, _lover_. They're just JEALOUS!" I couldn't get my voice that low and husky if i _tried_. Seriously; I haven't watched near as many Ru Paul's Drag Race marathons as she has. I could never properly emulate the fake-gay, absolute _queen_ in her voice as she said 'jealous' like a swear word and 'lover' like a caress- and my best friend is both male _and_ gay.

It was almost embarassing. Not that Trunks would be caught dead talking like that. I showed him mainstream homosexuality once, on the internet, and if he didn't like guys I'd swear he was homophobic from it. He's almost more scared of the flaming, in-your-face kind of homosexual than he is of the "flaming, in-your-face, straight sluts who are convinced you want them to latch onto you and never let go." (His exact words, combined with a shudder and a scared look towards Rea.)

I leveled her with a look not near Vegeta's avenging glare, but one that would maybe rank 'Piccolo Scowl' on the Roshi-pout to SSJ2-my-dad scale of 'displeased looks' (Copyright Z-fighters Roshi Through Gohan Scale of Displeasure). A deadpan, unamused expression complete with cynically raised eyebrow.

"Stop it and get dressed, we probably only have two minutes left on the clock."

She pouted, sticking her tongue out. Thirty seconds passed to see us sitting boredly in the bleachers, both fully dressed in the gods-awful grey shorts and white shirt. Well, I was sitting boredly; Dani was busy checking out the guys' side of the bleachers.

Why do they make us wear this uniform? Why not a gi or something actually comfortable to work out in? My own misery spiralled from my thoughts onto my face and Dani laughed when she turned around and saw it there.

"Come on, it's not that bad! Ten minutes of her taking attendance, five minutes of stretching, and then maybe twenty _tops_ of torture before we get to go put back on our clothes!" Her voice was up-beat and I shot her a withering look, not even bothering to correct her.

Yes, it was always torture, but not the kind she meant. The material of the bleacher we sat on was brown and plastic-y and grained under my fingertips as I ran them across it. For Dani, twenty minutes of jogging was actually challenging. For me- poor, out of shape Pan (yeah, _right_)- it would be 'torture'. Obviously.

Torture because it teased the hell out of me, maybe. It's like seeing all the presents wrapped up under the tree and only opening the smallest one. It's a good thing we have gym at the end of the day. That way, I can try to convince myself it's like a pre-stretch and when I get home, it's time to really-stretch and _really_ work out.

Our gym coach comes out with her little clip-board and starts calling off names. "Here!"s bounce off the walls for each one, dull and sounding as bored as I feel. I pay little attention until she get's to the S's. My cue to yank myself out of my thoughts comes, as it always does, when Danielle grinns to "Danielle Santorum" and calls off loudly, "Yess'm!"

The coach merely rolls her eyes before pinning them to mine. The gaze is less than friendly and I hope she sees the black of my irises as creepy and evil and gets _scared._ We have an infinite rivalry in which she thinks I should join sports teams and I think she should die in a preferably gruesome, Vegeta-esque manor. So far, we've reached a stalemate.

"Pan Son." She says, voice clearly a challenge. I lift my chin up defensively to meet it, daring her right back.

"Here." My voice is dull to ring with such authority, such juxtaposing boredom and contest. _Bring it._ I feel the thought dance in my eyes.

It doesn't matter. If I even break a sweat in the next half hour I'll probably die of shock. A completely random visual of my granny chasing Coach Bathory with a frying pan to avenge me has my lips twitching upwards. Dani looks at me strangely.

"What are you smoking?" I blink.

"Smoking? You mean, like cigarettes? Those things are nasty!"

She just sighs, reaching up to pull her dirty blond locks into a ponytail. "Nevermind; forget I said anything. Sometimes, I forget how sheltered you are."

Sheltered? I am _not_ sheltered. Though not for lack of trying, I reason as we head down from the bleachers. I sneak out and work out with an alien zen-master when I get fed up with the world. I get mad and jump out of my window and let the air currents carry me. If I wanted to, I could go to China and be back in an hour in a half- no one would know. I've fought, I've been to outer space, I've seen death, I've _killed._

I am not sheltered.

I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn't notice we were already running, my body falling into a pace much faster than was acceptable _here._ Dani was panting to catch up to me, looking half-dead by my side when I snapped out of it.

Immediately, I fell back into a more human speed; it was a pain in the ass compared to the effortless jogging I'd _been_ doing, but whatever. Appearances: Damn them.

"Sorry." I muttered, all but oblivious to Dani's incredulous, unamused gaping. I winced, hanging my head. I didn't even _want_ to see Coach Bathory's shit-eating grin- the one I just knew she'd be wearing. Danielle and I had been sprinting the entire time- probably less than five minutes, thank Dende- and were close to lapping a group of cheerleaders.

"_Freak_." One, Deborah Walters, sneered at me, and I felt my temper flare up despite my usual self control; I barely reacted in time to keep it from spiking my ki. I reminded myself that she was a human, not even as strong as the Junior Division contenders in the Tenkachi Budukai.

It woudn't be a fight if I threw the first punch- it'd be murder. There might not even be anything left. Deborah Walters would be a red stain on the edges of the Deborah Walters size hole in the wall. I try not to envision the cracking sound her spine would make, or the crunch of her fake nose, because I'm not a murderer. Even though it would be most enjoyable to feel bone give if I so much as thumped her.

Selfcontrol!

"You okay?" Dani's voice is at my ear. My blood's boiling, and I wonder if I could isolate the Saiyan part with a microscope. I don't need one; obviously, it's the part that's literally _boiling_ beneath my skin.

I don't answer her, too caught up in the litany the angel on my left shoulder is chanting in tandem with my conscience: _Selfcontrol, selfcontrol, Selfcontrol, Selfcontrol..._

"Of course she's not_ okay._ Why do they even let weirdos like her _in_ this school?"

I tried to count to ten, the song in my head never pausing. Just as (one) Deborah's voice never paused, because she has (two) no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. Three.

"I mean, of course, they let _you_ in, so she's not that big of a deal, right? Because you and your little rainbow pride are a thousand time's worse tha-"

I never make it to four. The frantic desperation of the "_!" _screaming at my temples is momentarilly overshadowed by a wave of anger so powerful I half-expect my hair to lift from my head in a brilliant, blond display of hollywood magic. It doesn't, of course, and one second of my temper's lullaby being drowned out is all it takes.

Something in me snaps. It's my self-restraint, I just know it is. My ki flares so strongly I fully expect every Z-fighter alive to be bothering me for the rest of the week, but I don't _care._

I'm flying forwards- not literally- and planting my fist in her stomach before she finishes the _unforgivable_ fucking display of stupidity. (My arm muscles contact easilly; this is familiar, this is in my blood, in my nature. The punch connecting sends a thrill of anticipation through me- if only she could fight back and make it good, this would be so much sweeter.)

It's one thing to talk about me; It's an entirely other matter for her to say such inexcusable things about my friends. First offence to Dani, who Deborah doesn't _know_ well enough to critisize. Second offence is to Trunks, who would do worse than punching her for the rainbow pride comment. Third is to my Uncle Goten, who would be equally proud and shamed to watch Deborah's body contract around my fist.

Time slowed down and I got to enjoy it with a sick, vindictive happiness- for the first few seconds. But just a few. Regret creeped in as her eyes bugged. Doubt washed it's way past my system when her breath fled from her lungs. A panicked, disbeleiving whimper of, "Oh, shit." left my lips as she flew backwards a good twenty feet and hit the wall with a thud.

I can't believe I did that. Half a second afterwards and I'm already deeply regretting it, spazzing out and near hyperventilating at my own stupidity. No one else has had enough time to recover. I don't think they've actually seen it yet. I move too fast.

A heartbeat later and time speeds up again.

Storm's rebuttle dies in her throat as she cuts off mid retort. Deborah's cronies spend a few seconds trying to process what their eyes were telling them had just occured. Bits and pieces, most likely, because there's no way the human brain can keep up with how fast I moved.

Because I am an idiot.

Belatedly, Deborah's body slides down the wall into an ungraceful heap and people notice she's been thrown into it. I breathe a sigh of relief- she's neither dead nor has she left a crater in the wall. I spare an insane moment to wonder if, when I'm forced to retell this story later, my family will be relieved or dissapointed. Probably a bit of both.

Is my grandpa watching this? Is he ashamed of me from wherever he is?

I fight the tears, refusing to loose the battle. I've too much to explain for already. I can't cry. Not now, not about things I can't _change._ Not about the past; never about the past.

He would tell me violence isn't the answer, and I would laugh, because when has violence ever not been the answer for him? Even though he would be right. Triplet memories dance against my will. The Goku from my childhood who dwarfed me and smiled so carefreely; the Goku from my pre-teens who stood a foot shorter than me and made the entire universe smile; the Goku with long, wild black hair, a red fur-coat and tail, and serious eyes: protector of us all. They all three swam before my eyes through the tears I refused to let fall.

If he could see me now, would he be ashamed of me? Or would he have wanted me to stand up for my friends? The little angel on my shoulder has tackled the little devil on the other one; he needn't have bothered, the devil was so shocked I'd givin in that he was speachless.

Coach Bathory was stalking towards me then, looking pissed off and curious and annoyed and gleeful all at once. I wasn't concerned. My self control was frayed at the edges, so I'd been sensing that Deborah was alive for the last minute as a direct result.

I'd also been sensing three familiar ki heading my way, closing in at the speed you could only achieve by flying. I _couldn't_ be concerned about the stupid coach because _my parents_ were coming here- I couldn't even muster up the indignation to be properly enraged that they could sense every little thing I did, not even the slightest fury in my head about _no_ freedom whatsoever- and they were bringing someone else. Quite possibly Piccolo.

It says alot about how nervous and freaked out and _overwhelmed _I was that I couldn't identify the third energy signature. Alot.


	6. A Mom and Her SlipUp Mop Daddy Card

The principal's office is not a place I've ever been in.

I look around with great interest now, trying to hide the twitching my fingers are doing, desperately seeking distraction from the chaos in my head.

I can't believe I- Ooh, look, there's a 'BEWARE OF REA SALVITORE' poster behind Mr. Takaishi's desk. It has her picture. And something about PDA under it that I'm kind of too scared to read.

Like I'm scared of my parents, waiting in silence beside me, probably sensing every drop or lift in my ki that I'm to shaken to control at the moment and- Wow, that potted plant just looks _so_ real. The desk is mohoganny. The chairs here are comfortable. Mr. Takaishi has a picture of the mayor shaking hands with my Gramps at the opening of the school.

How weird is it for my dad to be sitting in the principal's office again? At least it's not the same principal. That would be beyond weird.

I wonder if Uncle Gohan had Mr. Takaishi for a principal? I wish there wasn't so much tension in the room; I would ask him. He's sitting uncomfortably in one of the chairs- what do they need four chairs for anyways? Aren't there usually only two?

I wouldn't know. This is the first time I've been in here.

Usually, I don't punch people into walls. From twenty feet away. Because usually that's impossible. And usually, whenever Deborah insults me, I don't do anything about it. I guess three years of pent up feelings for someone will give you a hair trigger around them.

I glance over at my parents. I think they're having a telepathic conversation. Uncle Goten is still looking at me funny, like he's torn between being supportive and on my side as a teenager, or being supportive and on my dad's side like the adult he's grown into.

I look away from all of them. The indignancy I couldn't bring myself to feel earlier is back with a vengeance. What is wrong with the universe? _Why_ would they any Kami or Kai make it to where _my parents can sense whenever I loose control of my emotions_.

Or, really, everyone I've ever known. It's not _fair_. I throw that word around alot; I don't really have any other way to express my undyng frustration with the universe.

A new thought hits me, one that makes me blush instantly and my ki loose the flare it'd gained in my mental outburst: How am I ever going to have sex? Ever? Not now, gods no, but when I'm an adult?

Is there some secret to it? I mean, my parents must-

My face turns white. All blood leaves. My eyes widen. I did not just think that. Why, brain? Why would you do this to me! No amount of therapy will ever let me unthink that. None. I need to go to Dende and have him erase my memory.

... And possibly fill me in on the details of a permanant energy-hiding technique that all the adults besides me must know, because I _know_ all the adults I know haven't been celibate for my entire existance, which means they _must _have found some way to block their ki-signature's during... er...

I punched Deborah Walters into a wall. She's been provoking me for years and insulted my friends and family.

It's hastilly thought and I remember why I should try to regain control of my thoughts and ki just a few seconds before Mr. Takaishi walks in.

He's grim faced, like my parents. Uncle Goten pretty much has the same 'I-don't-want-to-be-here' expression as I do, but I think my reason trumps his.

I'm still wearing my gym clothes. They're still uncomfortable.

Mr. Takaishi looks directly at me as soon as he sits down, folding his hands over his desk. Our principal is an average-looking man with black hair and brown eyes, middle aged, nothing special. His skin is fairly wan and he has not a freckle in sight. He's the meek sort of man who enjoys having power, if not physical, over other people; he just hides it really well.

I take comfort in knowing all present here could snap him like a twig- and then I'm berating myself for my own stupidity, because it's that kind of thinking that landed me here.

"So, Miss Son, I have numerous eye witnesses-" It's a lie; nobody could have seen me move without a slow motion replay. Immediately, I know where this is going and glare at him, daring him to finish, "- who say you assaulted a fellow classmate in your seventh period gym class."

I open my mouth to defend myself, but he keeps going. It's obvious I'm not a real person to him. I'm just a student, not eighteen yet, not a real person yet. I don't get an opinion, nor a chance to defend myself. My temper flares, but only in the safety of my own head.

Like it has for years before this, my energy stays where it should be: barely above the norm. I _am_ in control, and I hope my family notices. Even though this guy is pissing me off. I do not go around _attacking _people.

"Now, now, don't try to deny it. Poor Ms. Walters was jogging innocently when you, for no apparent reason-" I'm spluttering at this point, clearly pissed off. My energy spikes not once. It's an entirely human reaction to get angry with someone who lies about you; this is the anger I've dealt with for my entire life. I don't _attack _people. I've only ever been mad enough to give into my Saiyan instincts when someone _attacks _me first, or someone I care about. "- and hit her. Now, I'm sure you realize, this is assault and will _not_ be tolerated at Orange Star."

"I can't imagine _what _would make you think it's okay to _punch_ another student- surely, you're parents have taught you better than that," He glances at my mother, but it's my father's spine that stiffens and his eyes that narrow. He has the same protective instincts as me. I know he does, because that's where I got them, just like I inherited my mother's curiosity and my grandfather's 'saving people' thing. Mr. Takaishi continued on like his word was law; to him, it probably was, "but really, I can't say I'm surprised. _Numerous_ reports came with your middle school transcripts about strange behavior. I think it's due time for you to have a psycological evaluation, Miss Son. Honestly, we can't have mentally unfit students terrorizing our-"

He never got past 'our'. His words stopped registering to everyone in the room as the phrase 'mentally unfit' was uttered and dropped on all of our toes like a dead fish.

By 'terrorize' my father was out of his chair, his hand on my principal's throat. It would have been immensely gratifying if it weren't so scary. I've only seen that look on Papa's face a couple of times- every time, I think back to Baby, and I freeze. Some small, scared part of me has never forgotten when my parents tried to kill me. They were posesed, but it changes nothing. I was ten. They tried to kill me.

Of course it was traumatizing.

I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted to, much less confronted him, so it's actually a good thing Uncle Goten came along. His hand was on Dad's arm a milisecond after dad's hand closed around Mr. Takaishi's throat.

"Don't do it, bro." His voice was cold for once, all traces of my humorous Uncle gone. That he said it out loud was a bad sign. It meant my dad was too far gone to hear it mentally.

The door to the office slammed open, and the three of us reacted instantly, in my case jumping to my feet, in there's away from each other.

I love my friends. Truly. All of my friends (all three of them) have my back. Even Rea would turn down a hot guy if I was in trouble. Trunks would probably go overkill and decimate a city or two.

My eyes swim and sting as I realize this, seeing Dani's panting form in the doorway, her hazel eyes wide and frantic.

"It's not her fault! Pan wouldn't... Deborah's been... antagonizing... provoking her for years. Teasing her, insulting her... She says some of the fu-freaking things... tormenting her since the sixth grade... Not Pan's fault."

I was floored and awed by the level of loyalty she displayed, even as I knew that, later, she'd be berating me for it. I mean, what did I expect her to do? Sit quiet and take it? Yeah right.

My mom's reflexes, even after all these years, haven't come anywhere close to my mom's. She jumped a little, sure, but nothing compared to his instant readiness to defend us.

"Is this true?" My mom spoke for the first time, pinning me with those electric blue eyes. I gulped.

"Y-yes, Ma'am." I stuttered. Her eyes softened and she turned to glare at the principal, a thousand times scarier than my dad had been.

"My father is Hercule Satan; maybe you've heard of him. He donates heavilly to this school every year, and I would hate to see his charity suddenly stop. Can you imagine what he would do if he knew his granddaughter was being picked on in _his_ school? I'd feel bad for the poor guy who let it happen, wouldn't you honey?" She didn't pause to see my father's stunned expression; she _never_plays the 'daddy' card.

Mr. Takaishi gulped audibly. My mom smiled sweetly as she stood up, and her eyes told me what she didn't. _I'm proud of you_. Her achnowledgement of the self restraint I'd employed for years almost made me cry, right then and there.

"I trust you'll see to this bullying problem removed immediately, Mr. Takaishi. I can have my father's people be in touch to discuss the situation if need be, just send the word with Pan here."

And with that, she walked out, closely trailed by dad. Uncle Goten shot me a wide-eyed, _She's almost scarier than _my_ mom,_ look as we walked out the door and I grinned, the weight of the world falling right off my shoudlers and onto those of the small, rat-faced man behind us.

For three seconds, my life was good.

Then, "You never told me Hercule Satan was your grandfather."

Danielle's wide, grey eyes were hurt. She looked so betrayed that I'd kept something so important from her, and I had no excuse. I felt ten thousand times worse leaving the office than I did entering, because I knew that the other secrets I was keeping from her were a thousand times more consequencial.

Loosing her as my friend would be a thousand times worse than getting detention for a year. I'd sooner dress up with my parents and become 'Saiya-Daughter' than see that look in her eyes ever, ever again.


	7. Game On Bitches OVER 3000!

**A/N. Dear people who are hopefully reading this. I have no Beta, just so you know. Sorry about any bad grammar. Reviews and opinions given would be amazing- I'd love to know if anybody actually likes this, what they want to see, who they want to see, who I got in character, who's OOC, etc. Sorry, just thought I'd ask nicely since nobody's really reviewed so far. Anyways people, this chapter has OVER 3000 words and I worked on it for hours. I know it doesn't really fit in the timeline, but I wanted to post it. Warning: There's gay stuff in here, just a little truten, nothing rated M, i tried to make it kind of fluffy without being unmanly. If it offends anybody, I'm sorry you don't have to read it. I hope you guys like my Pan. If anybody (and I realize how much of a long shot this is) wants to do a fanart of my Punk-Goth version of her, you're encouraged to try and then send me a link. I'll give you a cookie or something.**

**Anways, on with the chapter! Set in early january. Sorry for any mistakes before hand. Three updates in one night, wow, she deserves a review! It might encourage her to keep this up! No? Well, i tried.**

**Disclaimer: I am on this site; ergo, I own nothing. I aim to please.**

It's twilight.

I'm standing in right field, glove adorned, attention piqued.

The crowds on either side are alternately cheering and groaning, but I force that to the side. If I try, I can hear every word, every piece of gossip exchanged between mothers, or complaints from younger siblings who don't want to be here.

I don't try.

The lights are bright, but not blinding. There are seventeen girls on the field, four coaches, and two umpires, but no one is within seven yards of me. I'm as alone back here as I've ever been in a crowd of people—either because they're all veteran fighters I can never hope to live up to, or because their human's who live life better than I ever will, completely normal and oblivious.

But I don't pay attention to that.

My focus is held riveted on the bright yellow ball that flies from Danielle's hand to Rea's glove every few seconds. It's the top of the second, two outs, and the score is 14-10 us. I lean forwards, waiting for the ball to come my way; it hasn't yet, and though I can catch it easily no matter where it goes on this tiny, enclosed space, I refrain. This is a team sport.

There's a runner on first, and Jenny, our first basemen, is looking annoyed. The girl takes a huge leave off every pitch, yet when the ball comes, she's always a half second too late to tag her out. She's fast. I don't know her name; her jersey says that she's number 15, though, and I can find out from Dani later. She makes it a point to know these things.

Number 2 is up to bat, stepping into the box with a cocky smirk I shouldn't be able to make out from all the way back here. I know Dani well enough to guess how bad that pisses her off. I also know her well enough to anticipate how that anger will make her better instead of worse.

The girl was timing her every pitch from the batter's circle when she was on deck; she thinks she's got this. It's obvious that Number 2 never went up against Dani in league ball. Overconfidence is a sure-fire way to die against her pitches.

I lean forward, poised to run though I know there's no way this girl's getting a hit. My eyes slide over to the runner, watching her; she looks just as happy as 2. Confusion melts to wariness as I take in the brightness of her eyes, the excitement I can read there.

They're planning something. That's lovely.

For about the thousandth time this month, I wish I could reach out with my thoughts and let Dani know something. I know I can't and it frustrates me. When the first pitch flies, it's a good thing it's a certain strike, because our right fielder is gritting her teeth instead of paying attention.

The sound of the ball flying snaps me back into the game. I berate myself for the lapse, running up immediately to cover first. I needn't have bothered. 15 didn't take as big a lead this time, Rea made sure to hit Jen's glove with the perfect throw and 15's back on base before it's even caught.

Nothing unusual.

I watch Rea's sudden uncertainty creep up as Jen tosses it neatly to 'ielle. She snatches the ball out of the air without turning towards first base. The storm clouds in her eyes are gathering violently, a tropical storm over the pacific and even I'm a little afraid of how that bodes.

Confusion skitters quickly across Jen's face, replaced almost instantly by suspicion. Good girl. Don't let her trip you up.

This time, when Dani flicks her wrist out, I'm ready when she needs me to be. It's not her change up, not yet, but it's a tad slower than the last one. Two doesn't see it immediately; her muscles coil and she's swinging as fast as last time before she spots anything out of the ordinary. It hits the tip of her bat and goes flying straight over the fence—

And everybody in the audiences is suddenly screaming 'headache' at the top of their lungs and scrambling to get away.

Another strike.

Danielle looks smug in a way that makes me want to hug her, but of course I don't. I haven't left my position. I didn't run up this time, not when I knew it was fouling. I always wait until I can be sure that the ball's not coming my way before I go back up my base. I can afford to; I'm faster than anybody here, including Ms. 15-foot-lead-off.

Being part alien does that to you.

Danielle turns, smiling innocently, to the umpire. He remains stoic as he lobs a new ball her way. I feel the grin tugging my lips and force it away, replacing it with a scowl. I can't be amused out here; have to focus!

This time around, I know that they're going to put whatever plan they've come up with into action.

Unfortunately, I have no way to tell Dani this. Pretty sure if she hears my voice in her head screaming, "Don't do the change up, they're going to be being extra careful this go around!" in the middle of her pitch, the ball's going to fly out of her hand and injure the umpire.

Dani started the wind up, but my eyes weren't on her, not this pitch. The chick at bat was grinning like the vamp that bled the cat and I _knew_ I wouldn't like the outcome of this.

Dani threw a slow curve ball. To her dismay, 2 waited on it. She slammed into it perfectly, and I knew without listening that there'd be a collective groan from our side of the stands.

Time slowed down. Number 15 and 2 were already running, not even paying attention to the ball that was so definitely a home-run, or at least a fence it.

It _was_ high, streaking through the air directly between me and Tasha, the center fielder… But not so high that anybody would automatically assume I wasn't human for getting it.

I was running almost as soon as the ball left the bat, jogging at a human-viewed sprint. My attention was so absolutely on the ball that I stopped tuning everything out. All the yelling poured into my ears. I couldn't decipher individual voices, not as fast as the intel was coming. Tasha wasn't even trying to go for it. Everybody's eyes were on the ball, so high above our heads that nobody noticed me going for it.

Technically, I reasoned afterwards, it didn't count as cheating. I never once pulled energy from my core to lift myself off the ground. I didn't fly. Didn't hover or shoot up or sky dance in the slightest…

… I just pulled a Goten and jumped.

The ball was—thank you, Dende—only a few feet above the fence. The wind was rushing and pushing against me, the sky was darkening, the grass smelt… never mind, too much sensory detail. The ball smacked into my glove with a resounding, completely healthy slapping noise and I waited until I got to the ground before throwing it to our shortstop, Cheyenne.

Jumping up and catching the ball when it should have been an out-of-the-park homerun was bad enough. I'm not near stupid enough to just beam it to Jenny. Like a normal, upper-body-strength challenged teenage girl, I hit my cut off.

Everybody in the stands and dug-outs were staring at me. Silence reigned. Two was gaping in disbelief, unable to process that she was out. Number 15 was still running, having tuned out the world around her in her quest to get home.

Nobody even blinked, and it was starting to get really creepy until—

"Shy! Throw the ball to first!" Our pitcher's voice rang out, clearly frustrated, and quickly became the sweetest sound I'd ever heard. Thank you, Danielle.

Cheyenne blinked, seeming to belatedly take notice of the ball in her glove. Her softball reflexes kicked in and she immediately turned and hurled it to first. Jen caught on quickly, snagged the ball and touched her bag.

We all turned towards the ump behind home. He was looking straight at me and me alone, standing frozen and speechless. Rea, sans catcher's mask, nudged him a little.

He cleared his throat.

"Ahem. Err… Two outs." He mumbled, still unblinkingly focused on me. I tried not to bristle under the attention. The other umpire didn't contest his decision.

Suddenly, all I could hear were screams and cheering. The air around me erupted with it, nearly deafening me. Dazed, I jogged my way to the dug-out with the rest of our team.

Everybody was smiling at me, patting me on the back, high-fiving me. There were no looks of suspicion. No confused expressions or hate filled glares. Everybody just looked overjoyed that I'd made the catch and ended the inning. Complements flowed like wine in a brewery, and when my brain finally caught up to my body I was sitting down three minutes later, waiting for my turn to bat.

"That was amazing!" Rea gushed beside me on the bench. Some part of me realized she'd been chattering away in my ear for the entire time I'd been stunned to silence and I made some effort to care, but her words ran together in a slew of compliments and exaggerations and I just couldn't listen to it.

No one was looking at me now, too concerned with the resumed game. Everyone was excited now. Nobody wanted to lose after _that. _Nobody was looking at me; except for Danielle. Her cold, steel eyes pierced all my defenses, thankfully more curious than suspicious. I tried not to squirm or look guilty.

The longer the game went on, the more apparent it became that the other team's confidence had been shattered by my little stunt. When we were up to bat, they were distracted and worried. When we were on defense, all of their hits were timid; they didn't want the ball going to outfield again.

I got up to bat in the second inning, right after the right fielder, Meghan, and just before Rea. It rankled, but I knew I had to throw this. We were ahead by seven anyways, having gone through our entire line-up since my air-headed move.

The score was 21-14 with only twenty minutes to go. It shouldn't bother me that I had to suck at batting. Really, it shouldn't. I kept trying to talk myself into not caring; it didn't work. I felt proud of myself, and here I was about to ruin it. Everybody was admiring me for once, but if I didn't throw this they'd remember it me as being awesome and amazing and supernaturally good.

So I got up to bat, lifted the insanely light piece of metal and struck out. The crowd groaned. When I walked back to the dug-out, my team was sympathetic.

"It's alright, Pan, everybody strikes out sometimes."

"Don't worry about it, we're still ahead."

"Whoa, your luck fluctuates like the time stream." Dani murmured. To my intense relief, she _did_ seem to chalk it up to luck. Everybody has lucky moments; even a broken clock is right twice a day.

I was almost forgotten about as soon as Rea hit her home-run. Not quite forgotten, though, because it would have been a grand slam if I would have got on base. Abruptly, all the attention was… not bad, but sort of accusing. I got the looks people give to their cute, yet exasperating pet, which just peed on the couch.

That's nice. Well, at least no one thinks I'm super amazing because I can jump six feet in the air. I look down, feigning shame and sadness, to hide my grin.

We won by ten and didn't play the last half of the fourth inning, because it would only increase our lead and we didn't have time for a fifth. Everybody congratulated everybody, all celebrating in their own way. The freshmen—save for Rea, the girl of the moment—stayed behind to clean up the dug-out a little while all the upperclassmen left immediately.

My bat bag didn't have a bat in it, which made me smirk a little every time I used the thing (how's that for irony?), but it was an excellent transport device for my glove and cleats. I was the only one left so I took my time in getting ready, reaching up to pull my hair down, bending down to tie on my boots.

Finally, I sighed and Capsulized my bag before making my way out of the dugout and off the field. It was designed so that we could exit the field through a gate in the fence a few feet away from the side of the dug-out, which wasn't actually underground because our school is really cheap.

Anyways, after that you turn right and head down the sidewalk, past the stands, to the parking lot. There is no turning left, because the sidewalk cuts off into forest in that direction.

What I'm trying to say is that I had to turn a corner to leave. And when I did, what I saw on the sidewalk gave me pause. The back of the dugout is brick to 'look nice' while the inside is only concrete, and directly in my way to leave, leaning on said brick wall, was… well…

"If he weren't my uncle, this would be really hot."

They broke apart almost instantly, Trunks making a funny half-choked noise of surprise. Uncle Goten had shoved Trunks up against the wall and they'd been, like they usually are when they're together, snogging. I love saying that. I feel British. It's a lot more fun to say than 'Making out'.

They had been, either way. Uncle Goten had one hand on Trunk's ass, another on the bottom of his thigh, which he used to half pull his leg up. Trunk's looked lost in the kiss, both hands buried in Goten's wild hair to pull him closer. It was heated and intense and _they were in public_.

I raised an eyebrow at their obvious—and deserved- embarrassment.

"I'm seriously starting to think that you guys _want_ me to walk in on you. Leaving doors unlocked, _making out_ somewhere where you _know_ I have to walk... Jeaze. You knew I was in the dugout. You knew I'd have to come out here…" I trailed off, trying not to let my amusement show.

"Pan! That's not—"

Trunks cut his boyfriend off with a laugh.

"We were waiting for you, you ungrateful brat! But since you decided to take your sweet time, I decided to take my sweet boyf—"

I cut him off with a yell.

"Ahh! No amount of therapy will ever let me un-hear that! What is _wrong_ with you! Can't you go get into make out sessions with people who _aren't_ related to me, so that I can watch and we're all happy?"

Goten sounded strangled at this point.

"No." Trunks vowed with a straight face. "No one else could ever make love as—"

"I don't need adjectives!" I shouted, hands over my ears. Trunks chuckled.

"What, you don't want to hear about my love life?" He asks, pseudo-offended. I laughed at the fake hurt in his falsely appalled voice.

"No, I don't want to hear about my _uncle's_ love life. You can tell me all the details of your magnificent sex with _Rea_ if you want to, and I'll just sit over here like," I forced my face devoid of all emotion, and completely, deadpan serious announced, "Me Gusta."

I ruined it by waggling my eyebrows suggestively, like the villain in a Saturday morning cartoon. We both started laughing hysterically.

Goten, while still ten times less dense than his father, looked on in confusion. I really didn't blame him. His cheeks were a brilliant fire-engine red with embarrassment, which just sent us both back over the edge.

Finally, "Are we going home any time soon?"

Trunks and I stood back up, both trying to breathe.

"Yeah, yeah; keep your pants on." The purple haired Saiyan chuckled, leaning forwards to kiss his boyfriend. It wasn't a peck, either. Trunks captured his lips with his own and they moved together gently—I had to look away. It was so sweet and intimate I honestly felt a little embarrassed watching. It was innocent in a weird way, private and almost… awe-worthy… in a way that made me feel uncomfortable.

You try standing next to true love when you're most likely destined to be alone for eternity and not squirming. It's not something you can just be around all the time.

"There's not going to be any food left by the time we get—"I started awkwardly, but Goten yanked himself away at 'food' and Trunks shot me a dirty look.

I flipped him off, shivering slightly in the now full on darkness.

"Shall we?" He asked sarcastically.

I shrugged, already reaching as deep as I could and brushing against my core. Power came like it always did, like it always would, and I let it surround me, lifting me gently into the sea of blackness.

Trunks, asshat that he loves to be, just took off into the sky with a white-ish aura, like there was nothing special about flying at all. Goten rolled his eyes and took off after him.

Neither of them realized how much they were taking for granted.

I upped the power I was secreting in turn, determined to catch up with them and force them to go slower and enjoy the flight. The wind was cold yet inviting as I bolted upward; chilling the slight sweat I'd somehow broken worrying, earlier.

Maybe uncle Goten might even believe that I was kidding about the food. Mom knew I had a game today, after all—she probably had a small feast, even by our standards, prepared, hot and ready and waiting for us.


End file.
